


A Day Without Magic

by misura



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Community: springkink, F/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-29
Updated: 2007-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:57:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>About three weeks after her birthday, on a Sunday, she came to the place that didn't quite feel like home to find her old neighbor (who sipped tea and nibbled on biscuits and had only heard of Tolkien because her grandchildren had dragged her to the movie-version of The Two Towers, but who nevertheless was a nice, old lady) chatting with the Goblin King.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day Without Magic

On a night which was definitely dark (because nights are, after all, nights, even if there always seems to be a light burning somewhere further away than you really want to go) and possibly stormy (she hadn't been outside since she went to get her birthday-cake, only to be told it wasn't ready yet) she decided that what she really, really wanted, more than anything in the world, more than to see her mother again, more than that new book by Diane Duane and far, far more than the tea-cosy she got from her stepmother (its smell reminded her of old ladies daintily nibbling on biscuits), more than all that, she wanted all of them to just disappear.

It occured to her that she might wish for the Goblin King to take them far, far away from her, and that it might actually happen - like it had done before, except that this time, she'd have meant it. She wouldn't go and try to rescue _anyone_ , not even Toby ('You look _old_ , big sis.').

After she'd thought about it for a while though, this was the wish Sarah Williams made on her twenty-second birthday:

"I wish the Goblin King would come and take me away. Right now."

She went to bed (the dirty dishes could wait), dreamt about chasing after Sir Didymus chasing after Ambrosius chasing after cats, and woke up the next morning in New York City.

 

This is what happened: a few days after her birthday, Sarah visited her neighbor, an old lady who daintily nibbled on biscuits and whose knowledge about fantasy was limited to Tolkien (her grandchildren had dragged her to go and see the movies; she never read the books) and gave her the tea-cosy she'd gotten as a present from her stepmother. (It'd got roses on it, yellow ones.)

They became friends (the old lady said they were, and Sarah'd been raised to be polite to the elderly, if not to her elders) and one afternoon, the old lady introduced Sarah to her son, who worked at a company that published fantasy novels. They were hiring, it turned out, looking for someone who knew about fantasy.

(It was the perfect job, and Sarah was the perfect woman for the job, and it was just too good to be real - things like this, she knew, only happened in books and movies, but her baby-brother'd been kidnapped by the Goblin King and so, perhaps, this was her happy ending, the ever after that followed after the credits had rolled and the audience had left the theater.)

(The company sent her a nice letter, calling her 'Miss Willams', telling her how sorry they were for not hiring her, due to having found a more qualified candidate. She considered writing them back, informing them just how 'qualified' she was, then decided not to bother.)

 

About three weeks after her birthday, on a Sunday, she came to the place that didn't quite feel like home to find her old neighbor (who sipped tea and nibbled on biscuits and had only heard of Tolkien because her grandchildren had dragged her to the movie-version of _The Two Towers_ , but who nevertheless was a nice, old lady) chatting with the Goblin King. They were standing in the hallway, neither of them looking more out of place than the other.

"Sarah," Jareth said. He looked pleased to see her (likely, he'd known exactly when she'd get home, and had set up this whole scene just to remind her what a mess he'd made of her life, and that was why he looked pleased; it did have something to do with her, but _not like that_ ).

"What a nice boyfriend you have," Mrs. Jiggleby said. She looked pleased at the state of the world in general, and at her part of it in particular. "He reminds me of that popstar, come, what's his name again? 'Don't let me hear you say life's taking you nowhere, baby?' and 'We know Major Tom's a flunkie'? A quite handsome young man he was. Quite handsome."

"He's not my boyfriend," Sarah said.

"A pity," was Mrs. Jiggleby's opinion. "Are you _sure_ nobody's ever told you you look _exactly_ like a famous singer? I'm old, so my memory's not what it's been, but it's so obvious."

"What's been has been," Jareth said, as Sarah'd known he would.

"And what will be will be?" Mrs. Jiggleby stared down her nose at him. She was at least twenty inches shorter, but apparently, when you're an old lady, you can even stare down your nose at people who've got several centuries on you, provided they look like handsome young men.

"I should hope the future is a little more flexible than that," Jareth said.

"Humph," Mrs. Jiggleby said.

 

"It's been a _month_ since I called you!" Sarah started, mentally ticking off the first item on her long, long list of grievances she had.

"People cannot wish _themselves_ to the Underground," said Jareth.

"Okay. Fine." She supposed there was no reason to have expected otherwise; her luck had never been good. "So why did it take you a _month_ to come and tell me that?"

"Are you really so unhappy here?" asked Jareth. "It's where you belong."

"You're the King of the Goblins, I know that. You're probably busy. You could have sent a note."

"Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered ... you did say your castle was as great as mine." Jareth's gaze wandered the room, taking in the paintings (Rivendell and Lothlorien, and Bilbo's birthday-party) and the books, skipping over the newspapers (so many jobs offered, so few people who wanted to give her a chance) and the empty coffee-cups.

"It was," Sarah said. "It used to be."

"What's been has been." Jareth nodded.

"And you have no power over me," said Sarah. Jareth shrugged, either conceding the point, or considering it so obvious that it didn't warrant a response. "But I still have power over _you_."

Jareth remained silent, simply looking at her (like an owl, unblinking).

"You offered me my dreams, anything I wanted. You told me you would kill yourself to live up to my expectations." Jareth opened his mouth, but this had stopped being an age-old fantasy-tale a long time ago, and he was in _her_ world now, in _her_ castle, however small it might be. "Well, this is what I want. I want to go back there." She didn't say 'with you'. She didn't even think it. She knew he'd hear it anyway, but that was one thing she couldn't change.

"Very well," Jareth said. "If that's what you want."

"But," Sarah said, "people can't wish themselves to the Underground. It doesn't work that way." She'd known that, more or less, but wishes were always supposed to be impossible. "So you'll have to ask me." It made perfect sense to her. Even Mrs. Jiggleby, she thought, would understand that you could go nearly anywhere, no matter how impossible or far away, as long as someone invited you.

Jareth said nothing. She noticed the fingers of his right hand twitching for a second, as if he wanted to play with something (dreams in a bubble). When he noticed she noticed he stopped, sitting perfectly still, like a statue.

"Sarah."

It was very close - nobody else she'd ever met had spoken her name in quite that tone, a tone that spoke of ages of love and longing (and ages of denying and hiding that love and longing behind a mask of indifference). It was, however, not an invitation. It didn't even have the magic word in it.

Her turn, then, to remain unspeaking, unreacting. Not unblinking and unmoving; she knew she'd lose if she tried to best him there, too. She looked at the clock, the paintings, the books - anywhere but at him. She tapped her feet (the carpet dampened the sound, the ticking of the clock sounded loud).

"Please," said Jareth.


End file.
